


Yearly Flowers

by 30SecondGoat



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Flowers, Headcanon, Memories, Pre-Turn Back the Pendulum Arc, flowers on a grave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 14:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/30SecondGoat/pseuds/30SecondGoat
Summary: He wasn't always alone. A brief glance into the past of Kenpachi.





	Yearly Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Created after being challenged to write a headcanon on Flowers.

There is a grave in the 72nd district, marked by a single, pocketed stone. The stone bears no name, nor was it crafted by any who linger near, for its sheer size and weight render all in the area incapable of moving it. Cut roughly in the shape of a tombstone, the great marker covers the grave, keeping wandering eyes and devilish hands from unearthing it. Once a year, on this grave, fresh flowers sit. They may not be the most extravagant, but they appear.

There is a single occupant, now no more than a memory. His memory, to be exact, because Yachiru was still too young.

They were cold. Colder than they'd been before, if Kenpachi was right. His rieatsu was flared against the wind, providing both of them with life-saving protection; but even his monstrous supply was dwindling after so many days without food. Snow and ice covered everything in sight, and not a single person answered their call. He wasn't about to break in, murder and steal while carrying a small child. They were at the mercy of the storm, until she showed up.

She was nothing impressive. A slight, pale woman with high cheekbones and unruly hair. She was slightly older than Kenpachi by 50 or so years, if he could guess. Brown eyes had studied the large man and the bundle wrapped in his arms, crying; their intelligence a stark contrast to the mule-like expressions of those normally travelling in the area. She had invited them inside.

Kenpachi wasn't a talkative man; neither was he a trusting one. When the woman held out her arms for the child he shied away, the distrust plain on his face. She hadn't berated him or acted offended, however. Instead she offered a small smile and held out a warm blanket, making sure not to crowd him. She then went about making a meal, with bread and warm soup to nourish the two. She had said he must be special if he needed to eat; she'd felt his spiritual presence a ways off. She had said that the child must be special as well. He didn't respond.

The food had been delicious, and even Yachiru had stopped crying. When she'd offered them a place to sleep, his hesitation had shortened. When she suggested that they stay another night to wait out the storm, he hadn't hesitated at all. After a week had passed and the storm had let up, leaving blueish skies and walkable paths, Kenpachi had almost forgotten that he had a destination. Yachiru laughed and played; Kenpachi smiled; the woman grinned. They shared a bed and a life for those short months.

Then the rumors had come through the town. A great warrior had been defeated; a new Kenpachi had taken the title in the distant lands. Ice grabbed the large man's heart, and his resolve strengthened. They had left the next morning before the woman awoke. He couldn't stand to say goodbye.

It was years before he became a Captain; by then he'd realized many things. The Yachiru Unohana he'd known had changed; the savage warrior had turned into a healer, one who refused his challenges. The name he had inherited meant no more than when he'd given it to himself all those years ago. And acceptance was not something he would find even among the strongest shinigami; a murderer, a demon, a monster is all he would ever be. He realized, now too late, that what he had left behind was just as valuable, and twice as precious.

It didn't take long to find the house. Kenpachi was almost excited. Yachiru hung on his shoulder, unsure of what was happening as her father slowly approached.

Laughter came from inside; an old laughter that sounded familiar to the child. Then another's voice joined in. This one a man's.

"Kenny? What are we doin'?" she asked softly as they watched the couple emerge from the small house. The woman's eyes shone as she looked at her husband, and his smile lit up the weathered face.

Kenpachi stood still for a moment watching the two. "Nuthin'," he finally muttered, turning away. "Nuthin' at all."

The years passed. Seasons came and went. Hollows grew stronger and people died. And soon, after a particularly bad attack, a new grave was dug in the 72nd district. Each year, flowers picked from each of the districts along the way adorn the top of the stone. Each year, Kenpachi announces to his subordinates that he's taking a "vacation, ta keep my sanity with you fuckin' idiots!"

Each year, the memory surfaces again. Until there is no one left to remember; until they are truly gone.


End file.
